Love by its very nature is a gift freely given. And yet, this gift is known only as it is given again . . .Give as love gives -- just as the sun that gives its light to all who ask, or the sparrow that sings for the song itself. When you give love, love is your reward. When you judge some people worthy of your giving and other people as undeserving, you have forgotten love's law . . . The secret of unconditional love is that we are all the same, holy beyond imagine. This is what the release of fear reveals . . . This is what you will find when you open your heart to every element of creation.
'The poets must give us
imagination of peace, to oust the intense, familiar
imagination of disaster. Peace, not only
the absence of war.'
But peace, like a poem,
is not there ahead of itself,
can't be imagined before it is made,
can't be known except
in the words of its making,
grammar of justice,
syntax of mutual aid.
A feeling towards it,
dimly sensing a rhythm, is all we have
until we begin to utter its metaphors,
learning them as we speak.
A line of peace might appear
if we restructured the sentence our lives are making,
revoked its reaffirmation of profit and power,
questioned our needs, allowed
long pauses. . .
A cadence of peace might balance its weight
on that different fulcrum; peace, a presence,
an energy field more intense than war,
might pulse then,
stanza by stanza into the world,
each act of living
one of its words, each word
a vibration of light—facets
of the forming crystal.